Heavy In Your Arms
by Mighty Crouton
Summary: For a long time, Marian Hawke was my intellectual and personal enemy. She was no inspiration, but the catalyst behind my need to start this revolution. Rival!Anders x MageHawke, DAII, Spoilers.
1. Anders

Someone once told me it would be impossible to justify a Pro-Templar Mage Hawke.

I took that challenge and defended her.

The same person told me that Hawke was a victim, exploited by Anders. How can you justify a relationship after that?

I also took that challenge and defended Anders.

Originally this was just a one-shot.

Anders's POV- First Chapter  
Hawke's POV- Second Chapter

Enjoy.

**HEAVY IN YOUR ARMS  
**

This will be my last confession  
"I love you" never felt like any blessing  
Whisper it like it's a secret  
Uttered to condemn the one who hears it  
With a heavy heart

- Florence + The Machine

_

* * *

_

**ANDERS**

Beware of deals or bargains, even from your most trusted friends. Never accept a kind hand if the offer seems too good to be true. If you are too happy, you are probably being played a fool.

For centuries these lessons were enforced by the Circle in Ferelden. Enchanters would warn me of the forbidden arts, convey the importance of limitation, and remind me that great power requires great responsibility. As if leading a life where I was expected to strip myself of feeling, attachment, and desire wasn't enough, they had to wall me off from the outside world with cold stone, a massive lake, and an army of templars. We were trained to distrust everyone and everything, especially our own sense of judgment.

While many of my fellows were content with the rules, and happily occupied themselves with juvenile drama, ridiculous escapades, and massive volumes of books, I always craved something more. I remember the cold, harsh air of the Anderfels where I came from, and I remember enjoying the mud between my toes, the ice storms that threatened to collapse our roof, and the dangers of daily living. For many years, I tried to escape the Circle, and I had become notorious for slipping out of Templar hands. And those few moments when I was out of their reach, I would imagine my life on the back of a galleon, living where I wanted however I wanted. I would burn old books, sleep in a tent shared by thirty cats, and go on long journeys outside of Ferelden's small border.

I would be self sufficient and free.

But I am no longer that person anymore. I am no longer that Anders. I no longer have those dreams or desires.

I am changed.

And I will die very shortly.

Do you ever wonder what your last thoughts will be, before you die? Do you think you will look back on your mother's embrace? Will you remember when you tasted your lover's lips, giggling and tumbling off the bed in tangle of limbs? Or the warmth of a cat's belly, running your fingers against the fur? Do you think you will wonder what went wrong? What you might have done to prevent this untimely death?

They say that your life flashes before your eyes at death's door. But what happens if you've resigned your life for three years? What happens when you've already prepared to die?

This thought has occurred to me many times.

Justice fears he will not return to the Fade once I have been executed.

I fear the unknown.

It's funny. I expected that I would meditate on the future of the Chantry before I die, or perhaps languish in shame as a murderer.

But that's not true.

Strange thoughts occur instead.

As I kneel here, facing the destruction I have created, I can't help but think how it could have played out differently. How all of this ruin could have been prevented if only people were only willing to listen with an open mind and an empathetic heart. I expose my back to my fate, with the voices of old friends debating my life. How fitting_ they_ should choose whether I live or die.

But really, it isn't their choice.

Its hers.

This is a day of judgment, and choices must be made. I can hear the fires swallow Kirkwall's hightown even at this distance, blood and tempered rock still raining over the city and painting it red. I imagined the destruction to be great, the pestilence of death boiling this evil city within the cauldron of its walls, but when the Chantry tore into the sky it was so quick, so certain, so... decisive. There could be no more middle ground in these debates, not anymore. I chose to plant the bomb. I chose to force my hand. And with every choice, there is always a sacrifice of another choice. I forfeit my life for the lives of millions. It is a small price to pay for a revolution drenched in blood.

Certainly, she will kill me. If she does not, another will.

I will die. That is no longer my choice to make.

But I will make her decide.

She deserves no less for what she has done to my people, for what she has done to me.

My anger, frustration, and vengeance has been building these last six years. For so long, I've overheard horrific rumors of corrupt Templars taking advantage of my people. Pointlessly, they erased our dreams, our hopes, and even our faith in life. As if it wasn't enough that the Circle cut away our freedom and manipulated our desires, we had to endure further punishment for the way we are born. The chantry has rendered us docile and pathetic, to be played with and abused as they see fit in order to protect the interests of their status quo. I used to walk through the gallows in secret, and I could smell the desperation of the mages plight. Would no one hear us? Where are our fathers? Our mothers? Our sisters? Our brothers? Where are they to defend us in this mess, this atrocity of political, social, and emotional torture? And why do they do this? Because they fear us? Are they jealous of our talents? Or is there power to be had when you step on the necks of innocent men?

Try as I might, I could never answer these questions. With Justice as my guidance, I was only able to outline the holes in Chantry logic; a theology that had chained my brothers and sisters for too long. It wasn't until I met Marian Hawke, an underdog Ferelden refugee apostate, that my thoughts and ideas began to formulate into a concisely written manifesto. She never helped me, never supported me, never even agreed with my ideas. Hawke hardly inspired my cause.

Not at all.

For a long time, she was my greatest opponent concerning the Circle and its relationship with Mages.

For a long time, Marian Hawke would be my intellectual and personal enemy.

She was no inspiration, but the catalyst behind my need to start this revolution.

Originally, the _Manifesto of the Mage Plight_ was intended as a private letter I wrote Hawke, hoping beyond hope that I would change her attitudes and gain an ally to my cause. I outlined the flaws and contradictions celebrated by the Chantry, connected how Templar power had expanded beyond Andraste's intentions, and the original purpose of the Circle. I included solutions to the problems, demands for equality, and compared an annulment to outright genocide. My letters to Marian went on for years. Her responses were equally eloquent, outlining the necessities of the Circle, the danger of temptation and blood magic, stressing horrific crimes by abominations, and using Fenris as a suffered example of a Magistrate state without the balance of non-mage politicians. Her argument was that people were inherintely selfish and power hungry, and what were mages but people themselves who had great power at their fingertips? The Circle was justified in its existence, protecting the greater good from evil intentions. My argument was that the individual should not be judged by generalizations, and more evil is generated by abuse and fear.

Over the years, I would rewrite, correct, edit, and challenge her ideas.

And why? Why would she do this? Why would she defend the Templars, and condemn mages? Especially since she was an Apostate herself.

Her hypocrisy drove me mad.

Six years ago, I watched in horror as Marian turned innocent people to meet the Templar sword. With a cold face and dark eyes, she spelled out the fates and tore apart good families, many of which I knew. I wanted to stop her, but she had certain connections I did not, and as bitter as our friendship was, it was one formed out of necessity. She was in debt to my help, and I relied on her to stay alive.

"How could you do this? You are a Mage who turns on her own kind!"  
"Survival."  
"Survival? You would turn on your own kind for your own skin?"  
"Do not speak to me of righteousness, Anders. The Circle is necessary and right."  
"The Circle is broken!"  
"Not yet, it isn't."  
"But you are a Mage!"  
"And who better to hunt down Apostates than a fellow apostate? Do not speak to me of politics. Templars cannot become abominations. Ten templars are nothing against a single demon."  
"Abominations are the result of mages who are cornered. Who desire life over death. To survive. Much like yourself, Marian."  
"I did not become an abomination, Anders."  
"No. Far worse."

And she would pull them in, slaughter apostates, cut the hearts of abominations, and watch me with a cold calculation that nettled my heart.

I could no longer stand by and witness this abuse. Justice boiled in my veins, and I wisely chose to isolate myself from her presence. Justice demanded her head, but I stilled his bloodlust by writing. For three years, I corresponded with Marian using only letters. We never saw one another face to face, not even in passing. Our friends were kind enough to keep our engagements at The Hanged Man separate. Hawke never entered Darktown, and I never had reason to pass through Hightown. I had to protect her from my rage, and she was disgusted by my beliefs.

Still, we wrote to one another. The letters came in daily, spilled over with ink. My fingers cramped and I went through several quills a week. It became an obsession. When I wasn't writing, I would heal. When I did not heal, I would guide apostates through the Mage Underground. When I wasn't seeing to my duties, I would lie awake in bed, twisting and turning, waiting for the hours to go by before I would receive Marian's reply - posted always in the early morning by a private courier. Her private secretary and messenger Bodahn would smile thoughtfully at me, and present the gift in exchange for a few silvers.

"She's been up all night for this one, good Ser! All night indeed. Are you interested in more quills and ink? I need to stop by the market in Lowtown myself, and I'd be willing to pick up a few extra supplies for my favorite healer!"  
"That would be fine Bodahn."  
"Why don't you come walk with me, Ser Anders? The sunshine could do you a lot of a good, and if I know you, you have been up all night writing yourself!"  
"Perhaps I should..."  
"Not to pry, but... It has been nearly three years. I don't know why you both choose to spend so much time writing back and forth. I am sure my mistress's title would protect you from Templar eyes. Have you not considered seeing her again?"  
"Not yet, Bodahn."  
"Ah. I see. You know, the citizens of Hightown are all a twitter! They ask just who has the eye of lovely Messer Hawke, who the secret lover is she has been keeping in long correspondence with."  
"... Perhaps I shall stay here instead. But here are a few silvers for the supplies. Thank you, Bodahn."  
"... Ah... Certainly! Well... mmm.. Good day to you, Ser Anders."

She challenged me. Countered me. Strengthened my resolve.

I spent every waking day thinking about her.

Love. Hatred. Obsession. Madness. I cannot say.

I tried to stop my feelings before they could consume me. After three years, I called a truce, and we did not speak of our opinions.

But still she haunted me.

It was insanity. I would carefully re-read three years of letters, sift through them gingerly, close my eyes and sleep with them under my pillow. I plotted and tried to conceive of any way that I might change Hawke's mind, that I might bring her to my side.

She drove me mad.

When I begged for her help with a post by the Mage Underground, to save a girl from the plot of a corrupt Templar, Hawke complied. I assumed that if Marian witnessed Templar corruption first hand, I would finally have her support, I could finally prove her wrong and my obsession would wane. Unfortunately, this set up went horribly, horribly wrong. I lost control over Justice. I lost control and very nearly slaughtered every single person in the vicinity. I could smell their blood, I was tempted to eviscerate the innocent, my friends, anything that moved.

I ran instead.

Hawke followed.

"You nearly killed that poor girl! How can you beg for the freedom of mages when you are exactly what people fear?"  
"I am a single man-"  
"You are a demon!"  
"-a single man! I do not claim to represent all mages. And I do not, for all mages are unique and varied. They should not be judged, labeled, and feared for the actions of a few men!"  
"A few men like yourself! You almost KILLED an innocent girl!"  
"I know... I... I know I am a danger... I should leave. Would you have me leave?"  
"No. You must stay and fight this. I know you can fight this."  
"Why is it that everything you say makes me want to choke you?"  
"I need you, Anders. I need you to stay."  
"I... I don't understand. You hate me."  
"But I need you."

I wanted to stay, if only to convince Hawke of my plight. I had desired nothing else for three years, and this goal had become an obsession. Looking back, I never understood the real reasons why Hawke wanted me there. Perhaps I fooled myself, I thought that she was just as obsessed as I was, but unable to admit her feelings for fear it would ruin us both.

I should have known she was not nearly that selfless.

The following night I couldn't sleep. My mind was possessed by her. I wrote _The Manifesto of the Mage Plight _in order to occupy my madness_._ For hours, I thumbed through her old letters, found the flaws in her arguments, and penned draft after draft. I was still undertaking the final paragraph when Hawke arrived at my clinic unexpectedly.

Caught off guard, I was unable to collect myself during this particular visitation. For hours, passion, obsession, desire, want, and anger sustained me. My feelings were raw and visceral. Three years of letters, challenges, arguments, debates, and infatuation finally overwhelmed me and I could not contain myself. I fell upon her without her permission, drank her in, and felt my mind cave into the tempest of my feelings. My skin was burning, and my head was hot. I wanted so badly to take her there and then, but I stilled myself and held the reigns.

"I will be at your home tonight. I will wait, and if you do not receive me, I will know your answer."  
"Anders. I will receive you."  
"... Please... I... I don't understand. Why? Why will you do this if you hate me so much?"  
"You ask too many questions."  
"I don't hate you. I love you with every fiber of my being. I have done nothing but crave you, and I can't think of anything more. I lay awake aching for you. My hands, Hawke.. My fingers are blistered from writing, and I can't sleep. It is too much."  
"Anders."  
"Please. Do not toy with me. I'm begging you. I need you."

If I could not change her mind, than perhaps I could change her heart.

I really truly did love her.

And for a long time, I was certain Marian loved me.

Isabela warned me once that Hawke's relationship with me was a fabrication. The pirate woman was keen on reading between the lines, and could highlight deception quicker than Varric could pull together an outlandish lie.

"She's using you..."  
"Careful who you accuse, Isabela."  
"That little Justice in your head makes you an abomination and you know it. We are both aware what Hawke does to abominations. You are everything Hawke hates. She is using you."  
"Isabela, don't say such things now. My heart can't take it."  
"She is using your feelings in order to keep an eye on you and to protect herself from your damned Underground Mage Rebellion. Call it... a Circle of Deception."  
"... But I love her"  
"But she hates you. And if it were up to her, she would turn you into the Templars without a second thought."  
"So why doesn't she?"  
"... Because you keep assassins at bay."

My relationship with Hawke was a tricky dance, where we both feigned passion fueled by anger and hate for one another. She loathed what I was, and I wanted to choke her hypocrisy. I was everything a mage should not be, and she was everything a mage should never be - an Apostate hunter.

"You remind me of my father," Hawke admitted once, scrutinizing yet another updated Manifesto leaflet I left on her desk. "Always went on about the greater good. Equality. Chances..."  
"He sounds like a great man," I countered.  
"He is dead because of his beliefs," She answered coldly. "I will not die, and so help me, I will kill you first before you kill yourself with this ridiculous cause."

We never mentioned her father again.

I often wondered if her twisted relationship with me cited a secret one with the former slave elf. Many times, I was left alone in her estate as my lover and Fenris disappeared for varying quests, typically without the help of our other companions. She stood up for his corrupt beliefs, protected his interests, and always attacked my oppositions when arguments erupted between the Elf and I. Always, when I spoke of a government ruled by the checks and balances of equal part mage and non-mage, she would remind me of the Tevinter Imperium and use Fenris as an example of Magistrate corruption. How easy it is for politicians to fall corrupt, and how easy it is for mages to access blood magic in order to control these institutions. She was deeply prejudiced.

"If you hate mages so much, then why don't you do Kirkwall a favor and hang yourself?" I asked, when I was at my wits end.  
"Because I serve a better purpose as an apostate hunter. Otherwise, I would happily trot myself into a Circle. In the meantime, I will protect myself and I will protect you for as long as I can. And if you want to accuse me of being a fool, the door is right there. I am doing what you don't have the courage to do - survive, at any cost."

I never left.

The lasting blow occurred when a blood mage sadistically rendered her mother into an experiment built upon the dead bodies of other women. That night, I found Marian at her bed, staring into the wall. It was as if her spark was drained, replaced by defeat. The pillar of strength that had sustained this passion and madness had crumbled, ruined by the consequences of evil men. I never comforted her before. Her weaknesses were alien to me. She had dropped her walls and revealed herself, some frightened child lost in the cold.

"This is what mages do. This is what we can become. Without protection, we wallow in ruin, Anders."  
"You are not ruined."  
"You don't think I haven't toyed with the idea of Blood Magic, Anders? That I haven't considered..."  
"Marian."  
"Perhaps we are better off tranquil and harmless."  
"That's not true, and I won't sit here passively and watch you condemn yourself."  
"Why? Why do you still love me?"  
"... Because you are the only person left who reminds me that I am a man and not a curse."

Hawke finally opened her heart to me and we made love that night. It lacked the heated, intense passion of past sexual encounters. That night, our love making was sentimental, sweet, and gentle. After three years, we finally sealed our affections in a night rendered by loss. Still, I would try to convince her that mages are good and to relinquish her self loathing. I felt I would have accomplished everything I worked towards if I could only sway her to my side.

My attempts to understand her only made her more difficult to discern in the years following her mother's death. Marian's role as an Apostate Hunter secured Meredith's loyalty, and protected her from the eyes of the Templars. Her outstanding record also saved my life from the Circle's scrutiny. What are two apostates compared to the countless runaways that Hawke had dragged back or slain? In many ways, this bubble of protection is what allowed me to work, to outline my final plans, gather my resources, and prepare for the final blow against this damned city.

I had not intended to destroy the Chantry, but after her mother's death and after witnessing Hawke's hatred towards apostates harden, I lost hope that I'd ever be able to make her my ally. I knew I could not fully love or respect someone who did not fully love and respect me for how I was born.

Just as Marian used me to keep her enemies at bay, I felt I was justified using her title and privilege to disguise my plans.

They say the line between love and hate is a thin one, and I agree. Over time, we argued less and we loved more. Her visits with Fenris were more infrequent, and countless nights were spent laughing instead of screaming. I did not mention the plight of Mages as often, and after she drove the Qunari out of Kirkwall, her legendary status as The Champion was protection enough that she did not have to rely on mage hunting to cater Templar favor. Marian had a new weapon - the people's favor. Hawke was an exception to the rule involving mages in Kirkwall. The Circle trusted her after she proved to be an effective Apostate Hunter, the Underground Mages would not counter her since they allied with me, and the common people were more interested in Hawke's confrontation with the Qunari than they were her stance on the debate between mages and templars. In many odd ways, we protected one another from an entire city bent on killing us both for different reasons. We survived our enemies only because our relationship was based on a truce, despite the civil war of our opinions.

When asked which side she was on, Hawke would shake her head and say nothing. Marian understood that condemning the mages subjugated herself as a hypocrite now that all eyes were watching her, and to condemn the Templars would cause Hawke to lose a powerful alliance with Meredith and the templar order. She could say nothing, lest she ruin her good place. In many ways, Marian was a prisoner of her own circumstances, no better than a mage trapped in the Circle. She could say nothing to the public at large.

Behind closed doors, however, we knew where our loyalties lied. Hawke believed in the Circle, at any cost. I believed in the Mages.

That is why I did what I had to do. I knew Hawke would remain publicly neutral and see this struggle slowly rot Kirkwall from the inside out. I had to broadcast our beliefs for the world to see. I had anticipated that Marian would side with the Templars, and I would die as a martyr in this war of magic. I would play the Andraste, and she would be Maferath. The parallels were too clear, too perfect. The Mages would rise by my martyrdom and the chantry would follow Marian's example. So I sparked the flame, and destroyed the last sanctuary in this damned city.

I hesitated at first, I admit. In the last few years after the Qunari were driven out of Kirkwall, I remembered what it was like to be human again and not a possessed mage. I remembered who I was before Justice, and Marian always teased out qualities I thought I lost seven years ago. Life seemed more delightful and ironic. My craving for freedom, selfish and pure, returned again. I remembered the adventure of roaming Ferelden and the dangers of daily living.

"We would roam Thedas, burn books and live in a tent with thirty cats!"  
"Dear Maker, Anders. Thirty cats? Where would we collect them?"  
"Oh, they would follow us on our journeys. You would be surprised how easy it is to herd cats with enough oily fish in your bag."  
"As long as my Mabari would not protest."  
"Of course. He would sleep outside."  
"Anders!"  
"My dear, I doubt our tent will be large enough for the both of us let alone thirty cats. The dog would be too much."  
"And your cats wouldn't?"  
"Your Mabari is three times my weight. Cats are a bit more lighter, Marian."

Hawke presented the possibility of running away on Isabela's ship, robbing riches and never dabbling in politics again. She would be free. I would be free. I admit, I was tempted, but Justice would not allow it. There were times when Marian would convince me to leave, to run away from the city and just live with her. Just leave politics, mages, templars, or any of that nonsense. Become pirates and enjoy life for what it is, instead of safeguarding millions of lives that weren't our own. She would convince me, then Justice would stay my feet.

My blackouts were growing more frequent, and I'd awaken to see Marian screaming at my face, demanding that I leave and then falling quiet when she'd realize her audience had disappeared back into the recesses of my mind.

The Anders I once had been would have gladly ran away. The Anders I am now is also Justice, for we are one. We have purpose and cause in our mission. I cannot leave.

And so I chose not to go.

And Marian stayed with me.

And here I am now, bound by my own circumstances, on my knees, watching the fate of Kirkwall play before my eyes. I will die.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Marian asks.

Her voice does not deceive me. It may sound aggressive, bold, and strong to those who think they know her, but I can hear her heart breaking.

I am a healer.

Her heart is only one one I cannot mend.

I sigh, refusing to meet her eyes. "You would have stopped me."

The tension plays a taut note in this audience of friends and enemies. I fear they have all become my enemy now.

"There is no median ground to hide, Marian. You must choose," I plead.

For years, I anticipated how this would end. Marian would side with the Templars, cut my throat, and try to save her own skin as Kirkwall lay ravaged. She would annul the city of mages, and run, hiding in Isabela's ship before Meredith could kill her. In years to come, the mages would raise a banner in my honor, using my actions as a symbol and icon of the sacrifice of freedom. And Marian would go down in history as an enemy, the Maferath to my Andraste.

That is the Marian I know.

"Orsino, I shall stand with the Mages," Hawke answers simply.

But, I never really knew Marian.

I am in a stunned, staring at the sky and tasting the roof of my mouth with a dry tongue.

"Hawke... I cannot say I agree... but you have my sword," Fenris offers gently.

Justice disagrees and is outraged by the flaw of our predictions. It makes no sense! For years, she attacked our cause, she attacked our standing, she put down innocent lives to save her own. History should cast her as an enemy, but what now? What is her place now?

"My hand is yours," Aveline agrees, bowing her head.

What now? What is to become? Justice asks.

"Oh dear, the shit's really going to hit the hull now..." Isabela mutters.

And while Justice rages, I... Anders... a wash of happiness overwhelms me.

This is what I wanted.

This is all I ever wanted.

To change her mind... I only ever wanted to just change her mind alone, out of millions of minds.

For years, I obsessed over this day. For years, I dreamed of the moment Hawke would finally open her eyes.

Martyrdom be damned. Marian had become living proof of my manifesto and revolution in action.

She was its catalyst.

Now she embodied it.

But it is strange. It is odd. I am still not entirely at peace. I should be overwhelmed with happiness. I should be ecstatic, but I am not. There is something amiss.

Slowly, it dawns upon me.

I still must die.

The rest is a blur. I hear Meredith ranting, then sweeping away with her Templars. I recall Orsino requesting my head. I memorize the voices of my friends as they debate my life. The Templars rose against us briefly, the majority of their ranks already cutting down the Circle before us. Soon, the only ones here are my old friends, Marian, and myself. Cold at the Gallows, the sky lit in fire and death.

Hawke bends down to my level, crouching as she grabs my hair and pulls my head back, searching my face. Andraste knows I love her as she draws her family dagger to my neck, searching my eyes with an icy gaze.

"I will never understand you, Anders," She whispers, pressing her forehead against mine for a moment. "And you will never understand me."

I sigh, watching the woman as I speak calmly and quietly.

I am resigned to this.

"You know what must be done."

Hawke narrows her eyes, glaring at me, "And make you another Andraste? You would have me cut your throat, turn you into a martyr, and have millions of people march to their deaths for a righteous cause after you painted this city in the blood of innocent people?" She shakes her head, biting back the tears. "You may have fooled me once, but I know better. I... I can't kill you."

"But you will," I answer solemnly.

"I am responsible for this tragedy. I'm a terrorist, not a martyr. You... you have chosen to side with the mages. You must condemn what I am. What I have become. What I have done. I am what templars fear, and I have caused great catastrophe," I admit, a calm smile responding to her outrage. My hand raises, holding her chin between my thumb and forefinger. "You walk the path of a Mage... and you will be a better leader. You will condemn what I have done in the name of Justice, and you will become an example of what is good and right. I am a pathetic terrorist in the scope of things. You are the true hero."

It has come to this. Its ironic. Her mind is not the only one changed on this night of judgment. I realize now, Marian is right all along. Although my actions served as a catalyst for the greater good, I must still be punished for abusing my talents and killing so many innocent people. I am a dangerous mage. I had to be executed.

Not by a templar, but by the hand of a better mage than myself.

Marian had to lead by example, if both our beliefs were to serve a common, greater good. She has to be the model of goodness, and I had to be an example of what no mage should ever do despite the circumstances.

She pauses. I can read the revelation dawning over her face. How her skin pales, eyes widen, and red mouth narrows. She understands. "Why...? Why do you set me up for this?"

"Because I love you," I whisper.

"I do not want this."

"No one ever does."

A silence swallows us, and she stills herself against me. I want to hold her, but I can't, for fear it would sway her judgment. Instead, I plead. "Please, Marian. You must..."

I can feel the cold knife split my chest, biting into my heart. I fell heavy in her arms, my blood staining the rich fabrics of her robes and ruining my tired threads.

And as I die, with her arms embracing me, my thoughts go elsewhere. I imagine sailing Orlesian seas, free and wild with Isabela cracking a rude joke, Merrill debating elvish politics with Fenris, Varric writing letters of our tales in uneven correspondence with Aveline and Sebastian back in Kirkwall. Hawke presents a litter of kittens as a late anniversary gift, laughing as the small creatures mew, protesting their clumsy attempt to chase the ship mice. I always wanted to see how the sun sets against the water, how her dark hair smells with the spray of sea salt, and the taste of her skin miles into the ocean.

My life is full of regrets. I don't wish those memories to be my final thoughts.

Instead, I meditate on my fantasies and smile.

That is my freedom.

**Epilogue :**

_Marian._

...

_Marian._

... What? What is this voice in my head...

_Allow me to make this deal with you._

... You.

_Listen. Do not shut me away without listening._

I do not deal with demons.

_I am no demon. I am a spirit._

Begone. You have torn asunder my heart with your death of him.

_You suggest Anders is dead. He is not. We are one._

...

_Let me help you._

And you need me as a vessel.

_Yes. We would be one._

... He would not want this.

_No. But we know you do, Marian._

...

_- to be continued.  
_

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Went through quite a bit of editing. I just didn't feel satisfied, everytime I published it. I went through multiple Beta readers who gave it the go, but something was always missing. Some sympathy to the characters, I suppose._

_Jennifer Hepler did such a beautiful job with Anders. No one has captured such a uniquely complex character as well as she, and she deserves kudos for all her work in Dragon Age._

_My first playthrough in DA2 was a hypocritical apostate-hunting circle-hugging Mage who Rival!Manced Anders and switched to Orsino's side last minute. I fully intended siding with the Templars, but Hepler's writing... Gaider's writing... Damn, I have never done a 180 degree turn on my decisions. I intended for twenty hours to go for one choice, and in the course of five minutes, I went the other direction and threw my controller in the air. I guess I like playing characters that don't make sense, and so this fic was my attempt to make SENSE of a character like that. Maybe even make her remotely likable. Considering the amount of times I've edited the damn story, I can safely say it isn't easy. Still isn't._

_Anyways, go Rival!Mance Anders. I dare you. It enlightened me._

_Anyways, onto the next chapter._


	2. Hawke

_I had no intentions on expanding Heavy in your Arms.  
_

_My betas and several delightful reviews suggested otherwise._

_So I did. I am glad I did._

_Thank you, thank you, thank you Isabella Monroe, Desert Willow, MacSauce, Medivi, Auradorina, Jonesy E., Twilen, StellaSmooth, Talis, Daggers0, and Sarah1281. Reviews like yours are lovely little jabs to keep writing. They mean a lot to me!_

_Thank you Matt Taylor, Snoogerbooger, Coral, and Finicky! Good friends who are wonderful betas. They have to sludge through a lot of heavy rhetoric and it can be a pain in the neck, I know. Thank you so much. :)_

_Here's Hawke's point of view._

**HEAVY IN YOUR ARMS****  
**

See Myself Sing  
The Anthem We Wrote Together  
We Had A Dream  
We Had Everything  
We Rode To The End Of The World

- Sigur Ros

_

* * *

_

**MARIAN HAWKE**

A batty old woman once told me that the we stood on the precipice of change. She warned to keep my eye open for that moment when the world would collapse so that I may leap before I tumble into the abyss. And before I could ask her 'Yes, old batty woman, but what direction should I leap? Should I jump right or left? Forward or back? Would you prefer I turn around and jump the opposite direction?' she turned into a dragon and flew away.

I wanted to forget that moment, but her words would haunt me for six years. Varric kindly recalled the story with embellishment, exaggerating the details. He enjoyed repeating her prophecy in a rasped tone that sobered even the dumbest drunks at his table. The dwarf always requested I step in at that point, but I would politely turn down his offer and leave before his enticed company had time to question me.

Over time, I shrugged off the witch's dire comment as the ramblings of a mad apostate. But we all know better that you should heed the wisdom of batty old women in legends and fables. These words will always come back to haunt you, in the form of parable or prophecy.

And here I am now... and I can't help but wonder. Is this the precipice of change? Is this where I leap?

My heart falls as the sky burns. I watch as my city is torn asunder by dark magic, a rain of fire and church stone breaking the night into a terrifying vision.

The shock settles and Anders demands a choice. What can I do but stare?

Anders. What have you become? What have you done? Did you really hate me so much?

What have I turned you into?

Everyone warned me about him early on. They told me to keep my distance, that associating with an abomination would only spell my doom. I listened, but I thought I could control the situation. His revolutionary tirades grated my ears, so I condemned his idealism as ignorance and folly. My instincts demanded I cut his heart and tip off the templars, but I was persuaded by my 'better' judgment to keep him close.

At first, Anders did not know I was an Apostate Hunter. I never announced the finer details of my job. Anders assumed I was an avid supporter of his beliefs, but I never made such claims. He frequently asked me how the templars did not notice that I was an Apostate considering my status as one of the last surviving Amell nobles. Surely, Hightown was all a buzz about me. How was it I managed to stay under Templar Commander Meredith's radar? I soon learned that it is impossible to keep secrets from Anders for too long. Information is cheap in Darktown and the name 'Marian Hawke' spread like a pestilence across networks untapped by Varric.

Shortly, Anders made the startling revelation of my occupation himself.

"... You turned him into the Circle."  
"And?"  
"He had a family, Marian! He had a four year old son! He did nothing wrong. He was no Maleficar, no abomination! He only wanted to live with his family in peace! And you betrayed him!"  
"I did what was necessary."  
"You are a mage, Marian! How could you? How could you hunt down your own kind?"  
"The best apostate hunters are typically apostates themselves."

We stopped speaking to one another for weeks after that confrontation. Justice very nearly had my head and I almost knocked Anders unconscious with a conjured stone fist. The silence between us did not last, however. I started to receive many personal letters. I remember the first letter vividly. The introduction was intensely personal and emotionally tumultuous, his writing barely legible - cramped and frantic on the cheap paper. The last eight pages were more logical, and I could tell that Anders had spent many hours editing and re-editing his statements, wording his plight into a concise and passionate essay that begged I be persuaded to his cause.

I spent a great deal of time crafting a strong response to these letters. While my origins maybe common, my education is still rooted in nobility and my father was a former Circle mage turned Lothering teacher. I was well learned in Thedas history, I memorized the Chantry hymns, and I was intimately familiar with the Tevinter Imperium. When I received Anders' letters, I traveled to Fenris's lodgings and would sit down with my friend - reading these tirades out loud and crafting precise counter arguments, carefully fact checking Tevinter's social and political institutions with the elf over a glass of _Avalia Pamunalis_.

"I do wonder..."  
"What, Fenris?"  
"Why do you choose to be an Apostate hunter, especially if you are a mage? If I may ask."  
"Well... why do you choose to be a free man, if you were designed to be a slave?"  
"Mm... I... think I see. But I still understand you very little, my friend."

I do it to survive. To stay alive. To keep my mother safe, protect my family name, protect myself. What is one free Apostate when she proves to be a useful templar weapon? Even if it wasn't to save my own skin, I still agreed with the Circle's function. An ignorant mage can tap into magics capable of ripping apart entire villages. A frightened apostate could cast his lot with a demon.

It isn't that mages are untrustworthy. No. Not at all. Its _people_ I don't trust. All of Kirkwall is a historical testimony outlining the evils of people with too much power at their fingertips. What are mages but people with power? It is merely a question of choosing the lesser evil. I choose templars.

Anders and I continued to write long, tiring, exhausting letters to one another. He would find flaws and loopholes in my arguments, outline these issues and refine his essay - sharpen and whittle it until his words were pristine. I spent many sleepless nights in my estate's private library, diving into hardy philosophical, theological, and historical research, using these proofs to point out the inaccuracies of his agenda. There came a time when Anders finally requested use of my books. Even then, I mailed the heavy texts instead of inviting him to my estate, so he might underline and cite my own sources against me.

We had corresponded primarily through mail for two years before he extended a truce.

_I fear we are fast becoming enemies, when a friendship is more beneficial. I only ask that you walk with me to Sundermount. We shall not speak of politics. __I suspect you will not protest if Merrill and Fenris joined us? I could use Merrill's knowledge of the mountain's herbs, and Fenris would be an acceptable sword should we run into outlaws. -Anders._

"Be careful," Fenris warned, after I read this message out loud.  
"Why?"  
"How long have you two pushed your arguments? A year? Two years?"  
"Yes..."  
"... You haven't changed his mind, have you?"  
"No."  
"You are only strengthening his resolve. Be careful, Mary."

We walked through the winding trails of Sundermount, gathering wild elfroots and pocketing sweet berries from the mountain's rich soil. Anders and I spoke little, the tension between us had overwhelmed the silence. Sensing the hostility between us, Fenris and Merrill chose to follow from a respectful distance. We shared brief farewells and walked opposite directions - Merrill at Anders' side, Fenris at mine.

"He's obsessed," my elvhen friend growled under his breath, as we entered Hightown  
"I know. I do not believe I will be able to persuade him to see my point of vie-"  
"No," Fenris snapped. "I mean, he's obsessed with you."  
"I don't thi-"  
"You are encouraging him, and you know it."  
"... I know."  
"Wait... You _planned_ this."  
"... Yes."  
"I don't understand... I can't tell if you hate one another or love one another..."  
"He loves me, Fenris. This, I am certain. I feel nothing but contempt for him."

I played this game with Anders for a long time. Letters, hikes, and occasionally a pint at the Hanged Man. There came a point where we finally organized weekly visitations and feigned a normal friendship before our companions as if they could not smell the hatred between us. Still, we did not mention politics since Sundermount.

Our silent truce was broken when Anders caught word of templar abuse from the mage underground. I could sense that he wasn't just interested in an extra hand to clean up a determined mess when he approached me for help. Anders had ulterior motivations. I suspected he wanted me to witness templar abuse against Circle mages in person. He wanted to stoke my outrage and force my hand. He wanted me to turn against the templars and become a powerful ally in his plot to unshackle Kirkwall's mages.

Anders did not anticipate that his ruse would actually backfire - that this staged rescue would actually ignite Justice's fury and usurp any semblance of control he had over the demon. It merely hardened my opinions on the mage debate.

"You nearly killed that poor girl! How can you beg for the freedom of mages when you are exactly what people fear?"  
"I am a single man-"  
"You are a demon!"  
"-a single man! I do not claim to represent all mages. And I do not, for all mages are unique and varied. They should not be judged, labeled, and feared for the actions of a few men!"  
"A few men like yourself! You almost KILLED an innocent girl!"  
"I know... I... I know I am a danger... I should leave. Would you have me leave?"  
"No. You must stay and fight this. I know you can fight this."  
"Why is it that everything you say makes me want to choke you?"

Anders took the bait and remained in Kirkwall.

I quickly left after this revelation, my stomach sick and my head dizzy. A part of me was tempted to simply dump all of the Gallows' templars on him. I was in good sorts with Cullen, so a quick letter would seal the man's fate as a tranquil. However, my other half argued this. Protect Anders and you protect yourself from the wrath of organized apostates who allied themselves with the healer. Turning him in would almost certainly spell my demise by assassination. I wanted to kill him, but I had to keep him close if I were to save my own skin. Survival, at any cost.

That night, I was drained by nightmares. I had visions of the old crone reminding me to keep my eye on change, to leap when I see the world fall into abyss. Shortly, Justice fell on me and ripped my body limb for limb, drinking my blood and screaming blasphemies into my ears. When I awoke, I dressed quickly and followed the beaten streets to Darktown's clinic. As I approached the back of the slum building, I heard the familiar scratch of quill against paper. I observed Anders in silence, my heart in my throat as he drew his pen across the cheap scroll. For years, we spoke to one another through letters, though I never actually witnessed him write. It was shamefully voyeuristic, even exciting as I watched him work. When Anders noticed my entrance, he stood, and read the paper out loud to me. He had written a concise Manifesto in my 'honor'.

I gathered my courage and attacked his arguments face on. His desperation and obsession split him mentally, and I chose to manipulate these feelings. I faked my attraction, and was caught off guard when my enemy fell upon me, ravishing my mouth. I remember the taste of him, the bitterness of elfroot and a mouth dry from tension. He made love, and I complied. Am I wrong for faking interest in order to protect myself? Am I evil for pretending to love him, in order to keep him close so that the threat of an assassination would remain always at bay? I had to protect my family, and my mother was all I had left.

I had to survive. At any cost.

I can't be wrong for that.

"You are using him," Fenris muttered drunkenly, the floor littered with empty wine bottles and the air thick with the musk of expensive alcohol.  
"No more than he is using me."  
"I doubt he sees it as such."  
"... Anders may not see through the act, but I imagine Justice is aware of my plot. Else, he would not allow Anders to live with me. Anders may not be using me, but Justice is."  
"The abomination shares your house and your bed now, does he?"  
"Fenris. He is the only person keeping the mage underground from poisoning my drink. And my home is the only way I can safeguard him from templars."  
"... Do you love him?"  
"No."  
"But he loves you."  
"Yes."  
"... Perhaps it was wise that I stopped our relationship when I did."  
"Fenris.. You know I still love you."  
"But not as much as you hate him."  
"Please. Fenris."  
"A drink. To mutually beneficial relationships."  
"..."

And he would drink himself into a stupor.

My relationship with Anders was tumultuous and unkind. I took no pleasure in sex, and I felt empty when I feigned passion. I was certain the healer misread his hate for me as love, and over time the lies and deception cracked the surface. I suspect, perhaps, that Isabela warned him. But what could he do? Leaving my estate would risk his neck. Anders was trapped, caged and unable to run. I imagine Justice was satisfied with the knowledge that his little host was being protected by my hand, regardless of the emotional turmoil between us. Sometimes I wondered if Justice and I were working in conjunction, manipulating the mage to meet both our needs. But how far can you push a man until he cracks?

"If he hurts you, I will kill him."  
"Fenris, stay your hand. He can't hurt me."  
"Mary, I know a slave when I see one. And right now, I am looking at one."  
"Please, Fenris."  
"Do not claim to be in control."  
"And do not claim I am a passive child in this arrangement! I am the one who organized it! He is as much a slave to these circumstances as I!"  
"How far can it go, Marian? Just how far can it go before your own restraints strangle you alive?"

I thought I knew it all. I thought I could carry the burden and play the game as long as I needed to. I have been playing hide and seek since I was a child, manipulating people in order to protect Bethany and I from Ferelden's Circle. Kirkwall was a more fragile game, and Anders proved to be an even greater opponent. My life depended on predictability, it is how I survived.

I never expected chaos to enter the foray and take my mother from me.

I never expected my world to spiral out of control.

In one swift moment, I felt helpless when I once had power. My certainty was stolen from me.

If I cannot save my own mother, how could I save myself?

"This is what mages do. This is what we can become. Without protection, we wallow in ruin, Anders."  
"You are not ruined."  
"You don't think I haven't toyed with the idea of Blood Magic, Anders? That I haven't considered..."  
"Mary..."  
"Perhaps we are better off tranquil and harmless."  
"That's not true, and I won't sit here passively and watch you condemn yourself."  
"Why? Why do you still love me?"  
"... Because you are the only person left who reminds me that I am a man and not a curse."

I fell in love that night. For three years, I teased, used, and toyed him for my own selfish interests. Finally, with one tragic cast of the die, the hunter was captured by her own game.

We no longer mentioned the struggle between mages and templars. The civil war that plagued my house was stilled by this new connection between us. I thought perhaps I was fooling myself, but my feelings became clear when I no longer needed Anders to stay the hand of the Mage Underground after I drove the Qunari from Kirkwall. My new moniker, 'The Champion', was protection enough. The people of Kirkwall watched me with anticipation, and my house was rich with political support. I chose to stop hunting apostates, and Anders resigned his mission to concentrate exorcising Justice.

I never knew the real Anders after all those years of hating him. I had ignored the healer's charming qualities. His snide humor, quick wit, and sharp tongue. I finally opened my eyes and judged Anders as a man rather than an abomination, and I admired his energy and passion for life. He was vivacious, opinionated, and a fantastic prankster. I felt like a girl in his arms, giggling drunk as I rediscovered my relationship. His sense of humor balanced my snark, and we frequently engaged in verbal wars that left us both laughing at the absurdity of it all. I loved him. I could see him for who he was before Justice ruined him, and he finally met the real me - the me I left back in Lothering.

It was exciting and wonderful.

He had fast become my dearest friend.

"Let's runaway."  
"Where would we run to, Anders?"  
"Who cares. Isabela has a ship, we could become apostate pirates!"  
"Simply brilliant. I suppose I will need a peg leg then..."  
"... Not if you are on Isabela's ship. The only requirement would be 'no clothes on deck.'"

Those were the happiest years of my life.

Justice would have no part in it.

Anders frequently blacked out, and I watched with a heavy heart as the demon emerged, screaming curses at me and promising a swift death should I interfere with their mission.

"Leave him!"  
"NO. NOT UNTIL THE WORK IS DONE. I DEMAND YOU GO LEST YOU TRY MY HAND. HE SHALL NOT BE SWAYED BY YOUR PETTY DESIRES"  
"You treat him as if he is a slave. He is a man. Leave him! You are no longer wanted!"  
"ANDERS SERVES A GREATER PURPOSE. DO NOT POISON HIM."

It was torture watching Anders struggle against this downhill war with Justice. He slept less, ate less, and his health rapidly deteriorated. Justice was killing him.

When the healer finally approached me with good news, that he had found a formula to exorcise Justice, I admit I was partially fooled. I wanted to believe him, but I knew the potion was likely a ruse to still my fears. When he requested my help to distract the Chantry, I complied. Foolish as I was, I worked under the pretense of false hope.

Believe me when I say that I really did love him. But love is blinding.

And now my blindness has turned my city into fire. Anders has torn my heart asunder.

I stand there, staring at the guilty party as the sky cracks in mortar and flame. Meredith, Orsino, Templars, Mages... ignored as all eyes fix on this terrorist who kneels before me.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I shout, glaring at the ruins of Kirkwall's Chantry as my heart breaks.

Anders refuses to face me. Instead, he stares at the ground, his voice cracks with tire. "You would have stopped me."

I turn away from my friends, biting my tongue to stop myself from screaming.

"There is no median ground to hide, Marian. You must choose," Anders pleads.

How could I let my guard down? I should have known this man would betray my trust. I should have listened to the warnings of my friends. I should have seen and expected it. But the question he poses is greater than my emotional conflict. How can he expect me to make a decision that would ruin so many lives? Arguably, Anders expects me to side with the Templars. And I should. I want to. I an inclined to. My better judgment demands I fight for the Circle. If Anders is an example of what desperate mages are capable of, than perhaps the only way to protect innocent lives is to remove the immediate threat. That is the obvious choice. That is the trite and true one.

But it would only be a short-term resolution. Even if I were to annul all of Kirkwall, slaughter every single mage inside the Gallows, more will always be born. Outside of this city, the Circles, templars, chantry, and apostates were watching. My decision would not only effect Kirkwall, but all of Thedas. Was the world ready to lead by my example and fear mages even more? And isn't fear just another form of power? Does it not make mages even more threatening? My eyes open with this revelation. By siding with the templars, I would have to kill Anders. His death could very well cast him in history as a martyr, the catalyst to a revolution. Would I be known as an enemy, when my hand has been forced? Would I be an icon of what mages must fight against? Could I carry this burden? Could I really fight against a thousand Anders in my years to come?

Is this the precipice of change you warned me about, you damned batty old woman? Where do I leap? What side do I fall? The predictable or the chaotic?

I turn to face the First Enchanter, and the words drop like heavy stone.

"Orsino, I shall stand with the mages."

Anders may have betrayed me, ruined me, broken me, tore my heart in two but he has also fundamentally changed me.

In the chaos surrounding us, I saw the reality of my circumstances. Meredith's madness and Orsino's cowardice. Their sins are what try the fate of innocent lives, and they stand there blaming one another for extremes. I cannot side with either of them, murderers and cowards that they are. Even the Grand Cleric Elthina, Maker rest her soul, stood by and watched people kill one another, people drunk with power - be they mage or templar. One word from her mouth would have saved lives, but her silence condemned many men to their deaths.

The only man who had the courage to admit his crimes is in front of me.

I do not side with Orsino or Meredith or even Elthina

I side with Anders.

Though my reasons are not so simple.

"Hawke... I cannot say I agree... But you have my sword," Fenris offers gently.

My beliefs have been shaken to their core, and I can't breath.

"My hand is yours," Aveline agrees, bowing her head.

I see change in the horizon. I have feared it for so long. But I must leap.

"Oh dear, the shit's really going to hit the hull now..." Isabela mutters.

I fall to my knee and grab Anders' hair, pulling his head back and searching his eyes. I draw my dagger to his throat, watching his reaction as I shake my head.

"I will never understand you, Anders," I press my forehead to his and close my eyes as I memorize this moment. "And you will never understand me."

"You know what must be done," he responds calmly.

I glare at him, throwing the knife into the ground. "And make you another Andraste? You would have me cut your throat, turn you into a martyr, and have millions of people march to their deaths for a righteous cause after you painted this city in the blood of innocent people?"

Haven't we played this game long enough? Haven't we used one another for long enough? I was so happy when I thought Anders loved me unconditionally. I was so happy before all this madness. Was it all a lie? Was it all fabricated? Did we ever truly love one another?

"You may have fooled me once, but I know better. I... I can't kill you."

Anders sighs, his gaze searching my face, "But you will."

"Stop!" I beg. "I am tired of these games. Just... Stop..."

"Marian. Listen to me."

Anders raises his hand, gently holding my chin as he locks a firm gaze with mine. "I am responsible for this tragedy. I'm a terrorist, not a martyr. You... you have chosen to side with the mages. You must condemn what I am. What I have become. What I have done. I am what templars fear, and I have caused great catastrophe."

He gently caresses my jawline, a weak smile splitting dry lips. "You must... you must condemn what I have done in the name of justice. You must use me as an example of what a mage should not be, and you must become an example of what a mage must strive to become. I.. am a failure. You are not."

I fall silent and my mind stirs into a fever, "Why..? Why do you set me up for this?"

"Because I love you."

"I do not want this."

"No one ever does."

I allow the silence to frame this moment and I lean into him.

I am not a passive victim to his plight. He did not do this alone. It is difficult to swallow, but really.. I am to blame. I drove him to write his damned manifesto. I taught him the art of deception and manipulation. I became an obsession in his eyes and manipulated his feelings for my own needs. A six year tumultuous relationship based on treachery, love, hate, and obsession. With a switch, he had shaken my core beliefs and turned me into something I never anticipated.

I wasn't the only one who changed. I wasn't the only one whose beliefs were shaken.

Anders was just as changed as I was.

I finally understand the plight of the mages, and Anders finally realizes the importance of limiting their access to power.

He knows he must be punished.

If I was living proof of his Manifesto in action, Anders was living proof of my caution and the responsibility of magic.

I need to live to see his goals come to light. He needs to die so that these ideals would not be abused.

"Please, Marian. You must..."

I drive my dagger into his heart. He fell heavy in my arms, and I hold him gingerly. My fingers trace the knots of his hair, pressed over his lips as he fades slowly into unconsciousness. I am silent in my thoughts. I will not regret. I will look forward. I shall not waste time in memories. The future is grand in scale and requires my attention.

_Marian._

...

_Marian._

... What? What is this voice in my head...

_Allow me to make this deal with you._

... You.

_Listen. Do not shut me away without listening._

I do not deal with demons.

_I am no demon. I am a spirit._

Begone. You have torn asunder my heart with your death of him.

_You suggest Anders is dead. He is not. We are one._

...

_Let me help you._

And you need me as a vessel.

_Yes. We would be one._

... He would not want this.

_No. But we know you do, Marian._

...

_You cannot do this alone._

No, Spirit. But I can do this without you. You have already provoked me but Anders has changed me. I do not need to deal with you. I am already an amalgamation of all of you. I am no longer Hawke. I am not you. Nor am I Anders. I have become something more. I do not loathe templars nor do I fear mages. Not anymore.

I am the spirit of revolution, and I do not need you.

_I see._

Understand, Justice. If I am to be a role model, a leader, and an icon, I must do this on my own. I cannot rely on outside help from the spirit world. It would condemn our purpose.

_Do what is right, Hawke. Do what is just._

I will do what is necessary.

And I stay there, cradling the dead body of my former love, enemy, obsession. He falls cold and I stand, turning to my friends as I walk with heavy feet towards the Circle.

The world stands on the precipice of change. I saw my world collapse around me and I leaped. Where that jump will take me, I cannot say. I am no prophet, no dragon, no Flemeth, no Ashe'Bellenar, no Justice, no spirit or demon. I am only a common refugee from Ferelden who refuses to crumble. Should people follow me, then I will lead. Should they fight me, then I will retaliate. I do not claim to know more than I do, but when I see the abyss, I will dive into it.

Anders would expect no less of me.

I would expect no more.

* * *

_Everyone has their own legends, but this is how I saw Marian Hawke.  
_

_I'll admit. It was not easy to recall what happened. I lie not because the truth is less interesting, but because it can be more complicating.  
_

_Legends are like rumors. They tell the truth, but only a glimpse. They are misinterpretations and second hand information of real events.  
_

_Word spread that Hawke was an outstanding woman, who stood before the Templars and shouted No. Courage and bravery would be her stead._

_That would be her legend._

_But in reality, she was just an anti-hero thrown into circumstance. She and Anders started the damn revolution, from the beginning. They both worked together and they had no idea they were one another's allies until the very last page.  
_

_Anders would be remembered as a terrorist, a vile creature that tore the Chantry from its roots. An abomination._

_Hawke would be remembered as a hero who cut his throat and steadied the war, a living example of righteousness with a pure heart whom the Maker changed. His prodigal daughter, so long drifting in the darkness only to answer his call as Kirkwall's shepherd. She would be Andraste returned._

_That is the legend._

_But we all know the real story._

_-From _The Champion of Kirkwall_, spoken by Varric Tethras, Merchant Prince of Kirkwall, 9:40 Dragon  
_

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Dear lord I love anti-heros! Anyways, that's that. The end. Thank you very much._


End file.
